


But first, a nap

by gallopingmelancholia



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Reunions, Sharing a Bed, post-season 3 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25093288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallopingmelancholia/pseuds/gallopingmelancholia
Summary: Joyce Byers comes home to her new house from a double shift at her new job to find Jim Hopper alive and in her bed. He and El are sleeping, out like lights, Hopper wrapped protectively around his daughter. Joyce just barely manages to not scream in surprise. His hair is buzzed and he’s lost a lot of weight; the mustache is gone and his stubble has a lot more salt than pepper in it now. But she recognizes him instantly all the same.**Hopper's alive! He's tired!
Relationships: Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	But first, a nap

Joyce Byers comes home to her new house from a double shift at her new job to find Jim Hopper alive and in her bed. He and El are sleeping, out like lights, Hopper wrapped protectively around his daughter. Joyce just barely manages to not scream in surprise. His hair is buzzed and he’s lost a lot of weight; the mustache is gone and his stubble has a lot more salt than pepper in it now. But she recognizes him instantly all the same. The warm, comforting bulk of his chest under her duvet is rising and falling regularly, and she wants to feel it for herself—how many times has she imagined herself in the same position El is in right now?

She’s exhausted and will go sleep on the couch so as not to disturb El. Not for anything in the world would Joyce interrupt the father-daughter reunion, not now that El looks at peace for the first time since she realized in that mall parking lot that Hopper and her powers were both gone, possibly for good. But Joyce doesn’t want to leave the room yet. So she pulls off her shoes and sits down in the chair in the corner of her bedroom that mostly exists to hold dirty clothes, wraps herself in the blanket she also keeps on that chair, and she watches Jim and El sleep. But soon she finds herself leaning forward with her head in her hands and her elbows on her knees, barely upright, jerking awake. This happens a few times before she gets fed up.

Actually, you know what? El’s not that big, and this bed is big enough for two adults and a child. Will slept in her and her ex-husband’s bed for years. Nothing’s stopping her from climbing into bed right now. She’s travelled to another dimension, exorcised a demon from her son, and infiltrated a Russian weapons base, and that’s just in the past two years. She can get into her own bed and fall asleep with her adopted daughter and the man she trusts more than anyone. So she carefully, slowly climbs into bed behind Jim Hopper for the first time, covering them both with the blanket. Unsure of what to do with her arms, she rests her head on one of them and drapes the other over Jim’s side, placing her hand over his hip.

Despite being as tired as she is, and as natural as it feels to have him there, she can’t fall sleep right away now that she’s touching him. There are too many questions pinging around in her brain. How did he survive that giant explosion? Where’s he been the past year and a half? What on earth did they put him through, to make him look so haggard? Who brought him here? Why is he here, and not back in Hawkins? ( _Because we’re not in Hawkins_ , Joyce thinks. _El. And me, I think. We’re his family, and we’re here, so he’s here_.)

After drifting off, she wakes up a few hours later to find that Hop has turned to lie on his back so that he can wrap an arm around each of his girls. She’s been clinging to him in her sleep, her hands fisted in his rough shirt, knuckles brushing up against his chest hair. It’s so peaceful she can’t imagine what even woke her up in the first place.

“Mom,” Jonathan whispers again, standing by her bedside.

“What is it, honey?” she asks, turning her body halfway in order to look him in the face, twenty years of parenting experience pulling the question from her before she’s fully awake. She instinctively looks at the clock. It’s 3:34am. “Did you just get home?”

“Yeah, Nancy and I were working on a thing for the paper. Is that Hopper?”

“Shh…Yes.”

“It’s really him?”

“Yes.” How does she know it's him and not some Demogorgon trick or a government decoy like the fake Will from the morgue? She can’t explain it, but she does. If El trusts that it's him, Joyce trusts that it's him. 

“How did he--?”

“I was gonna ask in the morning,” she says, keeping her voice down.

“Do we have to do this right now?” Hopper asks, his voice rumbling pleasantly through his chest under Joyce’s ear, bringing with it a sweet relief to Joyce’s heart and a smile to her face. That’s him, all right.

“When’s better for you?” Jonathan asks, a little petulantly.

“When it’s not 3 in the morning,” Jim says, his eyes still closed.

“What time do you work tomorrow, Mom?” Jonathan asks.

“Day off,” Joyce says, yawning.

“Cool. I’m gonna make a pot of coffee and we’re all gonna figure out what the hell is going on,” Jonathan says, clapping his hands once loudly, startling Eleven awake. He yanks the blankets off the end of the bed, and Joyce regrets pulling that move on him so many times over the years because it’s a rude awakening indeed. On the way out of the room he turns on the lights. All three of the sleepers groan and cover their eyes.

“He gets that from you,” Hopper says into Joyce’s ear.

“Gets what?”

“The pig-headedness.”

“Shut up,” Joyce says, even though she knows he’s right and she’s proud of it.

Hopper gives her a little kiss on the top of her head. “Your hair smells good,” he says, and pushes himself up into a sitting position. Joyce reluctantly follows, happiness swelling up in her chest.

“I think we have bacon,” she says, climbing out of bed, her hips making creaking and popping noises.

Jim scoots to the edge of the bed and gestures to her to give him a hand up. She does, and he slowly pulls himself up to a standing position, his body unfurling like a flag in a desultory breeze. El rushes to him and he uses her shoulder as a crutch to walk the first few steps, as if she already knows she’s needed.

“Are you OK?” Joyce asks, worried. _What on earth did they do to him?_

“Yeah, my legs just get stiff,” Hopper says. “I’ll be OK in a few minutes.”

El escorts him to the bathroom while Joyce follows Jonathan into the kitchen to put some breakfast on. Will is already at the table, yawning over a glass of orange juice.

“Morning, sweetie,” she says.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Are you hungry? How many eggs do we have?”

They have eight eggs left. Joyce scrambles them all in one big skillet, and uses another pan to fry up some bacon. The pot of coffee is the strongest Jonathan has ever brewed, it smells like. He must be upset.

Hopper walks in, more comfortably now, it seems, and sits down across from Will after clapping him on the shoulder in greeting. El sits down next to him. Jonathan puts some butter and jam on the table and gets back to staring at the bread in the toaster. Joyce sets out plates and forks, which El and Will pass around the table. The eggs and bacon done, Joyce doles out the food, Jonathan pours out coffee for himself, Jim, and Joyce, and they all sit down.

“So. What the fuck?” Jonathan says.

“Hey! Language!” Joyce says.

“So, I’m not dead,” Hopper says, setting down his coffee. El claps a little, and Joyce smiles around her forkful of eggs.

“We can see that. How?” Jonathan asks.

“It’s…it’s a complicated thing,” Hopper says. “I’m not entirely sure myself and no one’s told me exactly how I got out safely. I’m assuming someone fucked up somewhere. Sorry. Screwed up.”

“Where’d you go? How long have you been back?”

“In this house? Maybe five hours. I’ve been back in Indiana a few days, I think. What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“Tuesday the what?”

“June 3.”

“So like two days. Before that I was in a bunker somewhere getting debriefed, and before that in a Russian facility.”

“What kind of facility?” El asks.

“Gulag. A jail. Not like the one—“

“So how long do we have?” Jonathan interrupts.

“What do you mean?” Hopper asks.

“How long do we have until they come for you, or the Mind Flayer Demogorgon thing comes back, or we have to deal with some other weird shit?”

“Hell if I know,” Jim says, shrugging and taking a drink. “This is good coffee.”

“Did you escape or did they let you go?” Will asks.

“Escape,” Jim says, and El beams with pride.

“How did you get from a gulag in Russia back to Indiana?” Joyce asks. She pours milk into her coffee and offers a little to Jim too, who nods at her. Jonathan still drinks his black. He thinks it makes him more grown-up.

“Hiked my way to the nearest American Embassy. I said the words ‘Hawkins PD’ and they knew exactly who I was and got me out of there immediately. This was about a month ago. Well, three weeks. They interrogated me and made me sign a bunch of paperwork saying I won’t tell anyone what I saw, you know, secret government bullshit. All I asked for was a change of clothes, a car, and directions back to my girl.” He tousles Eleven’s hair, and Joyce’s eyes burn with tears.

“Who else knows you’re here?” Jonathan asks.

“The government people and Doc Owens, as far as I know. Whoever’s fixing up my paperwork so I’m not dead anymore.”

“Why not take on a new identity?” Will asks. “They can create a whole new one for you. You could be whoever you wanted.”

“I like being Jim Hopper,” Hopper says, as if the idea that he could be anyone else is offensive.

“I’d rather be Indiana Jones,” Will says, shrugging.

“Eh, I don’t like teaching,” Hopper says.

“Do you think something else will happen?” Will asks. “Or do you think it’s finally over?”

“Something’s definitely coming. No idea what but it’s never fucking over in this place,” Hopper says. “Excuse the language,” he adds apologetically.

“I hope it’s not more Russians. I don’t want to have to hang out with Murray again,” Joyce says, and Hopper laughs. El bites her lip nervously, and Joyce knows she’s thinking about how low her batteries have gotten, fretting about how she’ll be able to protect everyone without her powers when shit hits the fan. Joyce wonders if Hopper knows about El’s mental block. If they had any chance to talk while she was gone, that was probably the first thing El updated him on.

“So we’re just gonna sit and wait for something to happen?” Jonathan asks, his brow furrowed even more deeply than normal. _This poor kid, always worried._ Her heart aches for him having to grow up so fast.

“I got bad news for you, son: that’s just what life is,” Joyce says. “There’s not much we can do to prepare because we don’t know what’s coming or when.”

“Yeah but—“

“We’ll meet it when it comes. We always have.” Jonathan has no choice but to agree. They’re pretty practiced in scrambling and regrouping by now—their success rate against supernatural predators and foreign agents is pretty impressive for a small town sheriff, single mom, and handful of foulmouthed geeky teenagers.

“When it gets to be a reasonable hour and not 4 in the damn morning, get Nancy on the horn, they can come and bring the other kids as reinforcements, if you want, but your mom’s right, there’s nothing to do until something happens to shake things loose.”

“Where will you be staying?” Eleven pipes up.

“Hadn’t thought about it,” Hopper says at the same moment that Joyce says, “Here.” She clears her throat and says louder. “He’ll be staying here.”

“I’ll be staying here,” he repeats, smiling at El, whose returning smile is now the brightest thing in the room. Then Hopper meets Joyce’s eye, and the look in it makes her heat up down to her toes. She takes a sip of coffee and holds eye contact just long enough to let him know that yes, he will be in her bed and yes, she will be expecting rough but tender sex as soon as the children go back to sleep. They technically never got to go on that date at Enzo’s, but considering the year and a half of mourning she just went through, they can dispense with the niceties of courting. What she sees in his gaze is a solemn promise to give her beard burn on her thighs.

Jonathan clears his throat uncomfortably. Joyce glances at him, then back to Hopper long enough to roll her eyes.

“Can I go back to sleep yet?” Will asks, yawning.

“Yes, honey. Get some rest. There’s nothing to worry about now.”

“Pfft,” Jonathan says, and he’s right. There’s always something to worry about.

“You too, mister,” Joyce says to him. “Have you slept at all in the past 24 hours?”

“Yes,” Jonathan says, but he’s lying.

“Let’s all go back to bed for a few more hours so we’re not dead on our feet tomorrow. Today. I’m eventually gonna want a shower,” Hopper says.

“We have one of those,” Joyce says, nodding.

“And some pizza and beer,” Hopper continues.

“We can get pizza and beer.”

“Something dumb and violent on TV?” El says hopefully.

“My favorite,” Hopper agrees. “And right now I want a smoke.”

“That sounds like a pretty good day,” Eleven says.

“Perfect,” Joyce says. “Let’s make it happen, captain.”

They clear the table, put the dishes in the sink to be dealt with later, and retreat to their bedrooms.

“You want me to stay with you?” Hopper asks El. She shakes her head and gives him a big hug before going back to her own room. Hopper follows Joyce back to the master bedroom, carefully closing the door behind them, and Joyce gets out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and hands them over. Jim tosses them on the dresser and pulls her into a tight clinch. She has to go up on her tiptoes to reach his lips. He still smells like coffee. Tastes like it too. She steadies herself by grabbing his face in her hands, the stubble of his jaw rough under her fingers. Never in her life has she been so desperate for a kiss as she is right now. Never in her life has a kiss made her feel so safe. But it’s not quite good enough.

She draws him over to the bed, lying back so that he follows and hovers over her, his bulk crushing her in exactly the way she’s wanted it to for almost as long as she’s known him. Her thighs bracket his waist to tell him he’s not going to go anywhere else until she’s done with him. He moans into her mouth and it nearly sends her into a frenzy; she immediately starts to paw at his shirt to try to get it off, but he holds her wrists over her head in one hand and kisses her deeply and slowly. He’s a man with a plan, it occurs to her. He knows exactly how he wants this to go down, perhaps has been thinking about it since Bob, or even before then. Joyce is more than happy to follow along.

When she’d imagined it, she thought there’d be some nervous laughter, if only on her part. But his blue eyes are calm and serious and full of softness as he unbuttons her shirt. No awkwardness in sight. She runs her fingers along his biceps as he does it, the gentleness of his touch mixing with the urgency of his erection growing against her hip making it difficult to catch her breath for a second. She _wants._

What does she want?

Everything. She wants everything.

And he’ll give it to her.

And he does.

By the time the sun rises, she’s got tangles in her hair and bruises from his mouth up and down her neck. He’s got scratches from her fingernails all down his back and her head on his chest. He doesn’t even make it through his cigarette before falling asleep. She stubs hers, then his, out in the bedside table ashtray and sinks back down to snuggle up against him under the sheets.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know a thing about what'll happen in s4. I just want some domesticity while I can get it.


End file.
